Cause I Can
by forgetting.dying
Summary: B/V in with the highschool thing, is it just me or is everyone starting to do one of these? CHAPTER NINE! Dun dada dun! Enjoy, and as aways, reviews are a good thing.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Of course I own nothing. I wish I could be the ruler of an entire race. Maybe they're selling 'em off e-bay… 

The author's note:  A/U Bulma is a misfit in a world of stereotypes (a.k.a. my school, I will eventually get around to bashing the cheerleaders.) Vegeta is captain of the football team. Bulma is in the lowest position of power; and captain of the football team is probably the highest. Not real sure, I'm still stuck in middle school (They're in high school) parentheses will probably be me, if not, oh well.

 Let the chaos commence.                                

'Cause I can.

"Watch it!" Bulma shouted. Once again some jerk decided to be exactly what he was, and knocked Bulma's supplies all over the floor. Books and loose-leaf papers were everywhere within a 5 foot radius of where she was standing.

The guy walked right on by with his friends, laughing.

"Hey, asshole, I was talking to you!" Bulma screamed at him before he was out of sight. She also spat profanities to anyone else that trampled her papers on their way to their classes.

It was a simple enough word for him to understand, and separating from his friends he walked to where she was still trying to gather her papers, the blob of a human with a little tuft of brown hair on the very middle of his small head, stated simply:

"You talking to me?"

Bulma glared at him, while continuing to pick up as much as she could. The other students went on either side of the hallway, some to get out of there as soon as possible, others to watch the inevitable fight.

"No, I was talking to the guy with an IQ of 4 over there."

The blob took exactly 1 minute to decide he had intimidated his opponent in the one-sided battle of wits. Then miraculously, another 30 seconds rushed by before he realized Bulma was being sarcastic.

Bulma had given up on the guy figuring out that she had insulted him the first 5 seconds, and proceeded to pick up the remaining few papers and headed towards her classroom. The crowd had done the same earlier when they thought just a lot of talking was going to take place. 

Passing the blob's group of friends, who appeared to be thinking hard as well. 

Blob's hand grabbed Bulma's neck.

Bulma's free hand, the other one holding her binder and books, instinctively went to try and pry her neck loose. 

As reason set in, Bulma have up her futile attempt, and instead went for the blob's wrist, and then went on to press a bundle of nerves, which in turn, sent messages to his brain that reported he was in pain, calling upon the immediate release of Bulma's neck in order to cease the pain.  

'Thank you biology.' Bulma thought, happy that the wonderful sensation of breathing had returned to her.

Unfortunately for Bulma, blob had managed to yelp out his distress, causing the nearest classroom door to open. Out stepped everyone's favorite teacher, Mrs. Loce to step out.

She was the teacher everyone got a Christmas gift for because she was nice. Her short blonde, curly hair, was pulled back by a headband, she was one of the keyboarding teachers, and seemed to get along with all her students.

The only problem was she hated Bulma.

Allow me to explain; Bulma hated the cheerleaders, Mrs. Loce seemed to thrive on her friendships with the cheerleaders, so when she allowed her students to write their opinions to practice keyboarding skills, Bulma bashed the preppies for all they were worth.

Seemed as though Mrs. Loce didn't appreciate Bulma's unique paper, which wasn't on malls or lipstick color like the majority of the girl populace had written.

Bulma was now trying desperately to explain the situation to deaf ears.

Or, Mrs. Loce was too busy babying over blob to hear a word coming from her mouth.

Bulma seized the opportunity to try and escape. Step by step, she managed to get as far as the end of the hallway.

"And…fake sniffle she…fake sniffle hit me." The blob said, evident he was faking everything.

"Oh you poor dear, that girl will be sent to the office immediately." Mrs. Loce now looked up to where she thought Bulma was. 

'One, more, step…' Bulma thought, almost to her class.

"Ms. Briefs? Where did you think you were going?" 

Groaning at how close she was to her classroom, and at the same time so far away, she turned to face her keyboarding teacher.

"One lousy step away, one. Just one. 3 more seconds and I would have been home free." Bulma muttered to herself, having been stuck in the principal's office for the last hour or so. 

Turning to the secretary, Bulma asked for the 32nd time since she had been sent in,

"May I see the principal, he's not doing anything. We're both wasting our time. I've missed half of English by now."

The secretary stared blankly at Bulma, and of course Bulma stared back. But after a while your eyes do start to hurt.

Sitting back down in defeat, Bulma thought about how miserable her life was, who all made it miserable and how to make those who made her miserable, miserable.

Shouts, ranting of words not suitable for people who wouldn't be able to see the PG13 movies without a parent shattered the silence.

The chemistry teacher walked into the office, pulling an unwilling, teed off, and very angry teenager, by the ear.

The chemistry teacher being possibly in the running for the oldest staff member, handed a lengthy list to the secretary, and then left, but not before telling what's his face to sit down and no cause anymore trouble.

"The bitch." The guy mumbled before he sat in the only other vacant seat (next to Bulma) in the office.

The secretary looked over the list, and started to type madly on the computer next to her.

Bulma looked up to a fellow delinquent. He had on a jacket that clearly said he was on the football team. As far as physical features were concerned, everything looked normal, except his hair. Let's just say, it had something against gravity.  

"What are you here for?" Bulma asked, not really expecting an answer.

"What's it to you?"

"Give me a break! Just trying to make conversation here."

"Please do me a favor and keep your 'conversations' to yourself."

"Make me."

"Believe me, I will."

"Sure." She was already here for being in a fight, what more harm could come of this?

"I don't waste my time on nobody's like you."

"Now I see what the problem is."

"What problem?"

"All that hair gel's leaked into your brain."

It went on like that for a long time. The principal was doing nothing to stop it, too busy doing 'something' on his computer.

Frog guts went flying in an all out war.

In other words, someone had carted in dead frogs into an office that held to very pissed teenagers.

Bulma had started it, being the one closest to the cart. (Why the carts in the office? Some lazy kid didn't want to walk the extra 5 yards and hated the principal, and everything else as well, so…)

Green, red and all those other gut colors covered the walls within a few minutes. The stench wasn't all that great, and what a stench it was. The principal was very conscience about the order of his formally clean office (he didn't like the smell either). The war ended when the, oh so grand principal emerged from his office and sent the two quaking in his wake.

At least that was Mr. Featah's original plan.

After several futile attempts at communicating the participants in the frog war, he sought shelter in his room.

Back to what was going on with the fight.

"You'll pay dearly for that." Bulma was cornered, and getting pelted with deceased amphibians.

It didn't help that the guy was the quarterback of the school's team.

The attacks stopped. "You give?" He asked, tossing a frog up and down in his right hand.

Rather then admit defeat, Bulma scrapped splattered frog innards of the wall, having run out of ammo a while ago (He had control of the cart) and threw it at the guy.

From what Bulma could tell, he was either red from anger, or from the bowels of some dead frogs.

The assault of frogs subsided.

"VEGETA! MS. BRIEFS!" Mr. Featah had come from his office, along with the secretary. 

"INTO MY OFFICE, NOW!"

The two teens walked into the designated room, dropping what ever they were holding.

I have a confession to make. 

I snapped.

Sorry.

Due to popular demand (two people) I have taken out most of the author's notes.  


	2. Help me

Sorry it took so long to update, would have done it sooner except I had a test [She didn't study for it, if that's what you're wondering.]

(GET OFF MY COMPUTER!!!!), and my mom decided to check on the light coming from my room, so no more late night writing sessions. [Yeah, right.] I SAID GET OFF MY COMPUTER! Sorry, that would be the voice in my head, in a jar, you wanna buy it?

(I'll be in here, all hail me.)

Disclaimer: Do you want to read the disclaimer? Good cause I don't want to write it.

"Oh, so you're on first name basis?" Bulma quipped at Vegeta. The Principal had turned his back to sift through permanent records.

"Shut up."  The scowl seemed to be etched into his face for all eternity.

"Make me." 

"I said shut up."

Mr. Featah turned with a folder in one hand, set it on his desk. Turned around again, and picked up a box labeled "Vegeta", then set it beside the folder.

"Now Ms. Briefs, could you please tell me what possessed you to participate, in this…um, frog war?"

"That bastard." Bulma pointed at Vegeta. He wasn't paying any attention, simply gazing off into the distance.

"That is no excuse. Ms. Briefs, you of all people. A frog war?"

"That I won." Vegeta had returned from his world where all people worship the ground he walks on.

"You didn't win, it never really ended."

"You were going to surrendering. Admit it, I won."

"YOU STOLE THE CART AND I RAN OUT OF FROGS TO THROW AT YOU!"

Bulma yelled.

Keeping his calm, Vegeta said. "You shouldn't have allowed me to take it from you. You're pathetic."

"I'M THE ONE WHO'S PATHETIC? I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Yeah, sure."

"Believe me, I will. Oh, you know you have frog guts all over your pretty boy face. ."

"I WILL NOT BE INSULTED BY THE LIKES OF YOU!" 

"WHAT ABOUT ME?" Bulma screamed.

Both reached for something to throw at the other. Bulma had a can of pens, while Vegeta just took an entire lamp.

Mr. Featah looked on in horror, not sure how to calm them down, not having anyplace to escape to, then he remembered about the bottle of aspirin in his desk.

"BE QUIET! YOU KNOW THAT WAS A DIRTY TRICK YOU LYING-" Bulma started her round of screaming.

"PLEASE, CALM DOWN, BOTH OF YOU! I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"

Luckily, no one had thrown anything, yet.

"Now, I need to hear why both of you were here in the first place. Vegeta please put down my lamp. Thank you, Bulma, why were you sent to the office?"

"Why are you asking me first?" Bulma asked, glaring at Vegeta.

"You were here first. Now please answer my question."

Bulma stayed silent for a little while. She was still glaring at Vegeta, who wasn't paying any attention. So, being the smart person she was, she turned to glare at what's his face, the principal.

"I got in a fight. Didn't your secretary tell you that?"

Mr. Featah was seriously considering swallowing the entire bottle of aspirin in his desk. (I don't really blame him)

"No, since Vegeta came in, she was busy at the computer."

"If the idiot teacher didn't tell me that it would combust, I-" Vegeta started.

Cutting him off again, Mr. Featah continued, "She's been busy totaling the expenses. Now, Ms. Briefs, if you say you were in a fight, how come the other participant isn't here?"

Bulma continued to glare at all the proper nouns in the room.

"If she wasn't a prep sympathizer, I'm sure he would be here, but as it is, he's causing more havoc, and I'm still stuck here, eagerly awaiting my dismissal."

Sighing, Mr. Featah wrote down something, trying not to glug down the bottle that could end his misery right then and there, handed it to Bulma saying, "This is your after school detention. I must say I'm very disappointed in you. You were never in this sort of trouble before."

'Yeah, and I was never caught before, if that as-' Bulma thought.

Grabbing the piece of paper from the principal, Bulma exited the office.

Now in the girls' bathroom, Bulma was extracting dead frog parts from her hair and off her skin. Washing it out as best as she could, trying to get the ammonia and decaying matter smell off her proved to be a very difficult test. She found her thoughts trailing back to the recent events. Then to her parents reaction for the detention, 

'Memo to self, before parents kill me,

Kill that bastard Vegeta. Destroy locker (not with c40's this time…). Kill preps. Kill Prep sympathizer. Pick out tombstone.' 

Looking half decent, she stepped out into the hall.

Walking down the bleak, unnervingly quiet hallway, Bulma mentally checked her schedule.

"Algebra next." Bulma got her textbook from her locker and then proceeded to the correct classroom.

"Ah yes, Ms briefs, you've decided to join us?" the teacher called from her position from the board.

Bulma was still coming in through the door when greeted with the warm welcome.

Placing a tardy slip on Mrs. Kison's desk, Bulma walked to her own.

Other then the teacher, no one else really noticed her absence.

'Sometimes being a nobody can help out.'

Bulma sat down at her desk in the back,

'Away from aggravating guys, annoying preps, and everyone else, Hallelujah.'

Enjoying doing something she was good at Bulma almost hadn't noticed the teacher had spoken.

"Remember, we're having a pep rally next period."

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOT ANOTHER PREP RALLY!' Bulma screamed to herself.

Then people started to turn in their seats to glare at her.

'Great, I said that out loud. Why do so many preps have to be in my class? Why?'

Bulma glared back.

The bell rang, and several preps were still glaring at her. 

 Wincing at the memory of the last time she had to suffer the consequences of her loud mouth, Bulma walked out in her usual manner.

*+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +**+ . +*

Now in the chamber of torture, the evil and very vile prep rally. (I KNOW it's pep rally, but every time I say it, it comes out prep rally.)

Bulma was sitting in the very back of the bleachers, if she wasn't hitting her head against the railing.

'Stupid! Don't you remember what happened last time? HUH? DO YOU?!'

Still banging her head against the railing (and getting a migraine) she thought back.

Some offended preps had got their boyfriends together and then told them to beat Bulma. Needless to say, 7 jocks against one misfit is not very fair, 

"GO! CATS! GO!" The cheerleaders were doing their cheers. Bulma's temporary double vision focused for a few seconds after ceasing to bang her head on the railing. Not being in a sane mind, and figuring 'what the heck, I'm going to get beaten up anyway.' She stood up and did their motions exactly, but not with the correct words.

"PLEASE FOLLOW OUR DIRECTIONS, THE FOUR CARDINAL DIRECTIONS. THE PUKE BAGS ARE OVER THERE, THERE…" 

EVERYONE in the gym turned to see what exactly was going on. They saw a dazed teenager making fun of cheerleaders, and having a blast.

So naturally, all the anonymous prep haters stood up too, and started doing Bulma's cheer.

There weren't a lot, but still enough to out number the cheerleaders, and unless the preps were cheating on their boyfriends, that was good.

Glares from all the prep sympathizers came at Bulma, who was still not in her right mind.

The last five minutes of the day consisted of a lot of cheerleaders crying, people (Meaning preppies' friends walking up to Bulma and saying, "I hope your proud of yourself." To which the dazed Bulma said, "Don't worry, I am." This left them stunned, they had hoped to make her feel guilty, but when you damage your frontal lobe like that, it's really hard. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Bulma was walking through the halls (After a long after school session with the cheerleaders, and apologizing and trying to get out of there as fast as she could, was no easy feat.

Opening her locker, she loaded her books into her backpack, all while hearing a conversation not too far away from her.

"Please, just beat her up. She insulted me, she hurt my honor, you should understand that."

"If you want her pounded, do it yourself." 

"Oh please, you're my boyfriend, you're suppose to help me out in these situations. Pwease, just this once?"

'gag.' Bulma thought to herself. 'That's sickening.' Trying to identify the boy's voice, she hung around her locker. 'I've heard his voice before, if I can just recognize it I can avoid being pulverized.'

"Please nothing, if you aren't willing to fight, what makes you think I will?"

'Sounds like she's getting on his nerves.' Bulma thought.

"I swear, if you weren't the captain of the football team, I would break up with you." A slap was heard, then someone walking off.

"Who said I was going out with you? Boyfriend, yeah, that's what the other fifty guys eating out of your hand are called. Pitiful, she thinks I would stoop so low as to do that."

'Duh, Vegeta.' Bulma thought to herself, banging her head loudly against the lockers, having moved closer to listen to their conversation better. She had caught his attention. 

'STUPID! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid'

Hearing the rustling of clothing, Bulma had the option of running and getting caught or,

*^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^**^ . ^*

Should I continue? Or delete this chapter and hang myself? I need some feed back! (A LOT!) If you like, tell me, if you hate, tell me.

If you want me to bash Cheerleaders/ preps (groupies, if you call them that at your school, I didn't realize there were other names for them. If you know anymore, please tell me.) more, YOU HAVE TO TELL ME.

Note, I know not all cheerleaders are snots, find one that isn't and e-mail me. 

I know this chapter was short, I'll try and get the next one up as soon as I can.


	3. One of those days...

Hello fellow Prep haters. Thank you if you reviewed me, and if you haven't, get to it.

'Bout the cheer, the cheerleaders at my school really do look like they're pointing out directions.

Thanks for putting up with my insanity! 

All the cheerleaders in my school are preps; I'm using them, not anyone else. I have no desire to rise in social status, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this fic. I must be on every popular's death list. Is that good or bad?

Disclaimer: Good Lord above us, if anyone believes I own DBZ, please save what's left of their brain.

*() _ ()*

With Vegeta almost around the corner, Bulma really didn't think she could get very far before he turned.

'Not good, very not good, very very very not good. Why did I have to bang my head against the locker? Why? Why must I have the worst luck in the world? Why?' Bulma thought, running to her locker, which was still open, and moving her books around enough to where she could squeeze into it. 

 The locker being full length, floor to the about 7 feet up, helped a great deal. 

Bending her neck to get underneath the locker shelf she had installed, now regretting it, Bulma managed to get in, rig the lock so that she could open it from the inside, and close the door.

'Please walk fast please walk fast" Bulma prayed, hearing Vegeta's footsteps approach.

Then a pause. Soon the hall was silent, even more so since Bulma was holding her breath.

"Yes!" Bulma exhaled. She opened the door and stood to step out. 

Her head collided with the shelf, adding another bump to the other few some prep sympathizers had given her earlier.

"Ouch. That hurt." Bulma rubbed her head, trying to ease the pain. 

Snap.

Bulma turned around just in time to see the latch supporting the locker shelf break.

And to see all the books on top of it give way.

Bulma tried to catch her books, but when she got hit more times then she caught any, logic says to give up.

She backed away from her locker, helpless to do any more.

As soon as the tidal wave of books, folders, and other miscellaneous junk subsided, snickering could be heard.

Bulma turned to see Vegeta sneering at the pile of educational materials before her.

"Is this funny to you?" Bulma asked, hands on her hips and glaring.

"No, just the fact that you would hide in your locker instead of facing me."

Bulma's face slowly turned red with rage.

"YOU MEAN YOU KNEW THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME? I OUTTA CLOBER YOU!"

"No, don't. You'll break a nail." Came the monotone reply, Bulma's rage increasing with every second.

"LIKE I CARE ABOUT A NAIL! I HAVE TO CLEAN ALL THIS UP NOW!" Bulma screamed, wondering if he was worth throwing a $50 textbook at.

"Then I suggest you hurry." He said, footsteps coming near. 

He walked up the staircase to safety, leaving Bulma with her mess.

"I hate this, I hate my life, I hate Vegeta more, I hate…" Bulma continued muttering, all whilst trying to get all her stuff picked up before she could get into even more trouble.

With a figure visible down the hall, Bulma crammed all the books into the locker, kicking it close, and ran.

*- . -* *- . -* *- . -* *- . -* *- . -* *- . -*

Her hand balled up into a fist, Bulma slammed it into various areas of her bedside table before the hateful irritating noise making device, otherwise known as the alarm clock, shut up.

Lazily checking to see how many more minutes she could sleep, her eyes opened wide with terror.

"WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO?" Bulma screamed towards the ceiling.

The red numbers showed she had exactly 5 hours to sleep, not that that was a bad thing.

"Stupid insomnia, stupid malfunctioning alarm clock, stupid messed up world."

Turning to face the wall, she tried to get some more sleep. She had been up all night, insomnia's fault, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't go and get a snack from the kitchen without waking everyone up, she couldn't do anything, except to maybe let her mind drift, but when nothing was in there, Bulma gave up all hope. 

"This is all Mrs. Loce's fault, if it weren't for her, I would never had been sent to the office, never had met  Vegeta, never had to put up with this insomnia. My life would be a lot better. Wait, no it's the blob's fault, if he weren't such a jerk, NO! It's those preps fault, if it weren't for them, I would never had written that paper, and, NO! It's the previous generation's fault, if it weren't for them, I would never had been born to suffer…"

Playing the blame game for a while Bulma got to "WAIT, ITS COLUMBUS'S FAULT!" before she realized how stupid she was being.

"Sleep, sleep, sleep. I dare me to go to sleep."

"Not working, okay if you don't go to sleep, you'll die."

"Fine, threatening myself won't work. Okay, if you don't go back to sleep, Vegeta will die, wait, no that's what I want to happen. Counting sheep. That'll have to work."

"1,993, 1,994, that's not doing to well. 40 winks."

40 winks later.

"RRRRRR! Nothings working. THIS IS NOT FAIR! I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO BE BORN!"

Having a headache from not sleeping, wanting to sleep, and not being able to sleep is torture. Especially if you waste hours at a time trying to fall to sleep.

Deciding that there was no way in the name of everything good and righteous that she was going back to sleep, she trudged out of bed and walked to her computer.

Logging on to the web, Bulma noticed something odd about the mailbox icon.

It had mail.

Bulma clicked on it.

The thing was full to the brim with letters, most of them having been sent by preps with names such as

Angel_Brat, Cutie_Princess_Angel, and other things with variations of those two.

'Delete, delete, delete,' Bulma chanted, destroying all evidence of the letter's existences.

Though she did stop to read a few of them, all of them said something along the lines of, "U mean Bitch. I hope u r sorry for what u did. If I knew how, I'd send u a virus."

And that's only after Bulma corrected most of the spelling.

"Well, now that that's over and done with, 'How do you kill or at least get rid of a Captain of a football team?"

* . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . * * . *

Walking down the halls, Bulma received many glares from the many prep sympathizers in the school.

'I'm too tired to kick their butts right now, maybe tomorrow…'  Bulma thought, spinning the combination on her lock.

Opening it, Bulma realized too late to do anything about it.

Bang, bang, bang, bang.

Hitting her head on her locker yet again, leaving the mess to be trampled over, Bulma chanted the now familiar phrase, "Why does God hate me? Why?"

Teachers from throughout the hall tried to get her to clean up the pile, but by banging her head even harder against the lockers, Bulma found she could drown them out.

"Bulma! Please calm down." 

"If you don't I'll call the principal." 

"I order you to clean it." 

" BULMA! Please?"

None of it was heard by Bulma, she just damaged her brain even more.

*X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X*

I know it's short, but it's better then nothing. Right?

Note: Death to the preppies.


	4. chapter that I need to edit, but too laz...

REVIEW!

Reviews= Happy me= More chapters= happy you.

So, my happiness is your happiness.

Don't like? Deal.

Oh yeah the disclaimer, I do own everything, EVERYTHING I TELL YOU! HAHAHAHAHAHA! NO PUT THE JACKET AWAY! I DON'T LIKE THE JACKET! GET IT AWAY!

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

"Miss Briefs," What's his face, the history teacher, was scribbling something then handed it to Bulma.

"This will allow you some time to get organized, you have 8 minutes, and for goodness sakes, stop banging your head on your locker.

Bulma stopped, everyone sighing in relief, only to return to banging her head on the locker beside hers.

The bell rang, and what was left of the crowd of educators scurried away to their classes.

"Eight minutes, that's it." He left to go to his class.

Allowing time for the dizziness to leave her, Bulma looked at the pile of useless junk scattered around the floor.

"Might as well, I can't afford t pay for anymore damage these books take."

Getting onto her knees, Bulma worked towards picking everything up and placing them in neat piles. Turning her back to a pile she just topped off, Bulma's head jerked around to see her papers go flying.

"Everything hates me."

"So true."

Bulma thought about throwing something at him, but 4 minutes of work wasn't worth Vegeta.

"Please, in the name of the holy nickel, leave me alone."

Vegeta stopped, then headed towards the office, not knocking anything over in the process.

Bulma was, needless to say, shocked.

"What the…?" Nothing, he didn't do anything.

'What does this mean? What's he up to? He's made my life miserable already, he couldn't turn over a new leaf THAT fast. Something is definitely up. Maybe it's a trap. Lulling me into a sense of security, then he kills me. Wait, that sounds paranoid, he'll, I don't know, kill me? This is confusing, I'll just stop thinking about it. No more banging your head on the locker, find something softer…just your desk then…'

The clock showed that 7 minutes had passed.

Bulma had everything picked up at least 2 minutes ago, but she wasn't going to breathe in the same vicinity with preps anymore then she had to.

Allowing her thoughts to wander around, Bulma soon leashed them up, chained them up, stuck it in the cage and locked it shut. You don't want to know.

'Why him? Nearly, 1.3 percent of the boy population aren't jerks, so why. Oh no, I'm subconsciously going with the majority. What happened to my will power? Down the tubes obviously…' Bulma thought, and as the clock showed that Bulma's time was up.

"In a nutshell, my life sucks." Bulma picked up her binder and junk, heading over to the history classroom.

Vegeta came down the stairs scowling and cursing when Bulma was halfway to her class.

Glaring at him Bulma's mind brought this up, 'Like I said, my life sucks.'

"Hi Vegeta, how are you today?"

Vegeta was stunned.

"You've lost haven't you?" He said seriously, looking to see signs of lunacy.

"No, I don't want my last words to be profanities. Have a nice day." Bulma left Vegeta speechless, him not being to sure how to counter against polite greetings. 

Bulma opened the door to her class, using all her self control she possessed not to slam the door to the noise. The teacher was at his computer, having already given the daily assignment, playing around on the internet. 

Bulma was heading to her seat, the back of the class, away from all preps, at least that's how it usually was.

"So he was all like, "she's my girl" and then Shakira was all, yeah-huh, and then…" A few cheerleaders were conversing, if you could call it that, in the desks right in front of Bulma's.

"Excuse me." Bulma asked. They ignored her and continued with their oh so exhilarating story.

"Before, you were, like, so **RUDELY** interrupted, what Whitney, like do?"

"She was all like, I'm hot-"

"You're all snots." Bulma filled in, as she walked by to her seat, having given up on getting by this without resorting to insults.

"You know, we're like gonna give you like the like silent treatment." Pigtails turned around to inform Bulma.

"Praise the Lord, I do not deserve such a blessing." Bulma's head went to look at the ceiling in mock thanks.

Ponytail 2 turned around to face Bulma,

"Like why were you like, flirting with my man?"

"I haven't talked to any guy since about a two days ago, but he was more of a blob then a human." 

"Uh no, like, Vegeta." Ponytail 2 said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, flipping her her hair over her shoulder. Bulma nearly choked on her spit.

After coughing several times, Bulma managed to wheeze, "Vegeta's human? I thought he was in the same league as the blob, except h-" Bulma cut herself off. She didn't say it, so there fore it's not true and no one can hold it against herself.

'Vegeta is not hot, Vegeta is not Hot, Vegeta is hot, Vegeta is not hot…' Bulma chanted to herself, not realizing her subconscious had put its two cents in.

"Whatever, I like saw you, like, talking."

Bulma just stared in disbelief.

"We…talked…and then…you…assume…I was…flirting…"

"So you, like, admit it." Ponytail 2 looked triumphant, flipping her hair over her shoulder again.

"What? That you're stupid? Yeah, but nearly everyone does…"

Ponytail 2 looked crestfallen. Bulma, on the other hand, was happy.

"You didn't just say that." Ponytail 1 spoke up. At her voice, nearly every head in the classroom turned to see, the teacher excluded.

"I have, I did, I will again." Bulma looked at the pitiful sight;

Ponytail 1 was comforting Ponytail 2, Pigtails was getting offended, and Britney Spears wannabe looked pale. 

'No one's said that before.' Bulma thought proudly.

"You're like, so mean." Ponytail 2 said through the sniffles.

"Thinking you all bad, you ain't." Pigtails piped.

Totaling the detentions she would have to serve for fighting in the hall, ruining the Principal's office, and interrupting the prep rally, Bulma finally said, 

"I'm the one having to serve a month's worth of detentions, how 'bout you?"

At this, the preps had noting to retort with, they weren't used to people standing up for themselves. So they used their one other alternative.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

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I do give preps the names most suited to them, Ponytail 1&2 are based off real preps.

Give me an Ego boost, write a review. 


	5. onward to...I'll get back to you on that

Trying to edit, post and write another Fanfic at the same time is very hard.

Now, someone explain to me what it feels like so I know how to act.

ANYWAYS, due to the request of KayakQueen, ponytail 2 is now Joanna Martino.

SEE! I DO LISTEN! Thanks of appreciation for all those who were kind enough to review. And, yes, they will fight in front of the teacher.

Disclaimer: I ain't writing it and no one can make me, so there. I SAID PUT AWAY THE JACKET!

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"PLEASE DO SOMETHING! THEY'RE RUINING MY HAIR!" screeched a higher class of snob to the teacher, which is quite a feat in itself, the chanting of FIGHT was extremely loud. Too bad he went into that zombie mode where they can't hear anything.

The preps, so used to having their puppet boyfriends to everything for them, had no earlier fighting experience, but they did know that if you pulled someone's hair it would hurt.

So what do you know, they all went for Bulma's hair.

Looking up from the book she was reading, Bulma noticed almost too late what the preps where going to do. She was surrounded on all sides, the preps having every advantage.

"On 3, like 1, 2…3, go for it." squealed Ponytail 1.

"This is for messing with MY man." All of them lunged for Bulma's hair.

Slipping under her desk, Bulma easily avoided the sure to be painful assault on her head.

Clunk. They're heads collided and resulted in that very comical sound.

"Ow, that, like, hurts." "My head like, hurts too." "Where did, she, like go?" 

Bulma returned to the surface, happy to have that scenario over with.

"Like, there she is!" Britney Spears wannabe shrieked.

Thanks to the fact that all of them shared a single brain, the others backed off, allowing Joanna to protect her uh, honor.

"This is for trying to steal him." Joanna slapped Bulma, actually thinking she had done some damage.

"For the last time you can keep your precious Vegeta, *I* DON'T want him." Bulma screamed, putting up with the slap, trying to avoid another detention, a month's worth is no thrill ride.

"Sure, whatever, you go Joanna, kick her butt!" the snob's friends cheered.

Another group of snobs, the ones who just thought they were too high of class to talk to anyone, went to try and pry the teacher from the safe haven of his computer and desk, declaring that all the noise created vibrations, causing their hair to mess up.

"PLEASE, THEY REALLY ARE MESSING UP OUR HAIR!"

Joanna sent another slap Bulma's way. 

"How do you like it now?" Now Bulma was, too say the least, teed off. 

"Admit it, I'm-" Joanna started, never to finish. Bulma landed a fist to Joanna's jaw, then another one to her stomach.

"You're stupid, a snob, and you're really dead." Bulma attacked with little or no mercy. No mercy.

Joanna, now in a choke hold, squeaked, "Hell-o, like HELP me!" then she passed out. Bulma now resembled a psycho right out of a horror show, scaring everyone except the egocentric preps. Britney Spears wannabe stepped up to take on Bulma.

"Now you're gonna get it. I'm a white belt." A quick back fist to Britney's face sent her screaming. 

"Yeah, I can tell. It really shows." Bulma stood over the fallen preps, still mad as heck.

"don't worry Joanna, I'm gonna get Vegeta, like he'll put her in her place." Ponytail 1 raced out the doors.

"PLEASE! LOOK THEY'RE FIGHTING! DO SOMETHING!" one of the braver snobs poked him in the shoulder. He fell over, on to the floor. "EWWWWWWW!" the snobs screamed, "YOU KILLED HIM!" they pointed to the bold snob, who had a look of immense disgust on her face.

The remaining preps decided they would use strategy to stall until Ponytail 1 returned. "Like back off now, or we're like gonna be like mad." Bulma's anger was conveyed so well in her evil grin. "Like, you need a different eye shadow color, it's like-" Bulma started to approach the two slowly, drawing out the torture.

"WHAT?! I TOLD YOU I DON'T CARE! LET HER TAKE CARE OF HER OWN FIGHTS!" Vegeta was shoved through the door by Ponytail 1. "She's your girlfriend, you like, have to!" "She's not my girlfriend, she just started calling herself that!" Vegeta explained, a beaker in his hand, trying not to spill the liquid while attempting to pass the Ponytail 1.

"DO SOMETHING! HE'S DEAD!" The group was shrieking. "I'm trying, I think he's asleep, do any of you know CPR?" The one that caused the 'death' of their history teacher asked. Immediately all of them squealed, "EWWWWWWWWWWW!'

"LISTEN! If you won't let me go back to class-" "But like look, that girl's beating all her friends up."

"What girl?" He was too focused on leaving the classroom to notice the fight. "That girl like over there, please Vegeta, just beat her up.

He turned to see Bulma beating currently beating up pigtails, while Britney Spears wannabe was trying to do something to help.

"You."

*X . X**X . X*   *X . X*   *X . X*   *X . X*   *X . X*   *X . X*   *X . X*   *X . X*   

2ND PART! WOO HOO! This was not only too short, but it was not long enough. I know I'm being redundant, but so was my science teacher today.

*$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* *$ . $* -This describes me very well.

"LET GO OF HER! Come on! What did she ever do to you?" Bulma just glared at Britney Spears wannabe's stupidity. Then she returned to her victim. 

"TAKE IT BACK!" Bulma screamed, in a very not so happy killer psychotic weasel voice, pigtails being held in a slightly different choke-hold.

"I SAID T-" Then Bulma felt a tap on her shoulder. Looking up to whoever it was who was ruining her blood thirst and screaming, "CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY HERE! YOU CAN KILL HER AFTER *I'M* THROUGH!" 

The walking ego himself was glaring back at her. Then his glare one eightyed into a smirk. "No need to." It was then that that Bulma saw the blood drained from the colorless blonde's lifeless body.

"Oh, well, that takes care of that."

Remember the snobs? 

"EWWWWWWWWWWW! Can't you do something?" The snob looked at her friends, then the closet, then supposedly dead teacher, then her friends again, then the body, then the closet, then her friends. "You know, like I think I have an idea."

Vegeta nudged Joanna's head, finding that she was unconscious. And to further compliment him, he managed to keep whatever was in the beaker, in the beaker, while Britney Spears wannabe and Ponytail were clinging to his arm, weeping over they're fallen friends, bad mouthing Bulma in the process. 

"Oh VEGETA, like she was so mean. I was like, trying to like stop her, but she was like, all crazy." Ponytail wept openly.

'And they say _I was trying to steal her boyfriend. They're pathetic.' Bulma had returned to her seat, reading her book._

"VEGEEEEEEEEEETA! You have to do something, pay her back for Joanna! Please!" Ponytail was clinging to his arm.

Looking deathly annoyed, Vegeta just mulled over his thoughts.

"Impressive." Vegeta mumbled. 

"What's that Vegeta? Huh? Huh?" Ponytail asked, pukingly sweet. 

Looking back at the blue headed one, Vegeta continued to mull over his thoughts.

"How'd you do it?" 

Bulma, book still in hand, replied, "Do what?"

"Do this?"

"Do WHAT?"

"This."

Giving up, Bulma dropped her book onto her desk, and looked.

"You ever hear of a little something called adrenaline?"

"That explains it."

 "No, 'cause **I** just snapped."

"You, just, snapped?"

"I, Just, Snapped."

"That's what I said."

"I said it before."

"Find someone who cares."

"I have."

"Spare me."

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Funny, funny, funny."

"I know."

insert a really long argument containing cuss words

"THERE! Now see, aren't I a genius?" Slapping her hands together, the Snob stood triumphantly in front of the closet door. "BRA-VO!" "MARVELOUS!" Came sounds from behind the closet. 'Don't I know it!" with that, the snob walked off, after carefully hiding the history teacher underneath his desk.

*^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~* *^ . ~*

A little longer, I'll fix it up later for y'all, I had to do this in 30 minutes, so if isn't up to your standards, my apoligies.

And as all ways, reviews make ME happy, happy me writes more, and makes happy YOU! Happy me, Happy you, happy me happy you happy me… 


	6. Short but so what?

HAHAHAHAHA! I GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER UP! All hail me, the supreme Kai. So many reviews weepsob I feel so appreciatedweep [weakling] glares I'm glaring at the voice in my head, somebody please tell me what's wrong with this situation. Now, for anyone who read these things over, I didn't use Vegeta's last name, 'cause I'm not too sure about what exactly it is. Is it Vegeta? Vegeta, Vegeta…someone might want to fill me in on this one too…

Disclaimer: EVERYTHING SHOULD BE MINE! ALL MINE! SO A DISCLAIMER IS NOT NECESSARY! MUUHAHAHAHA! Sorry, the insomnia gets to me sometimes…

*# . #* *# . #* *# . #* *# . #* *# . #* *# . #* 

"WHAT'S GOING ON IN HERE?" One of the many educators followed by many more educators bashed through the door. The scenario was as follows:

Two cheerleaders in their uniforms were passed out on the floor. 

Muffled talking was coming through from the closet door.

Two teenagers were shouting insults of varying degrees of vulgarity.

Two more teenagers were clinging to one of the aforementioned debaters.

A sort of fortress of desks with all those not wanting to get in the way of the rampaging Bulma cowering behind them.

On top of that, a crowd of everyone else there were hollering their ideas to whoever debater they were rooting for.

This site was met by screams of middle aged women, some falling to the floor in a faint, shouting of the male teachers, and shrieking half orders around.

Of course they were droned out by the cheering of the specters, making several red faced and angry.

"I've brought the stretchers, someone help me lift these two onto them." One of the nurses had come from the infirmary with needed supplies. Promptly taken away, the cheerleaders weren't to be heard from for an entire day and a half, a record.

"WHAT THE HELL PROVOKED THAT?!"

"Besides the fact t-"

"That will be quite enough of that. Mister Vegeta, Miss Bulma, please follow us." One of the male teachers interrupted Vegeta. They, of course, ignored them, too wrapped up in their heated argument.

"ME? WHAT ABOUT YOU?!!" Bulma was now screaming at the top of her lungs, several bystanders later reported temporary loss of their hearing.

"WILL YOU PLEASE ACCOMPANY US TO THE OFFICE?" 

Glaring, oh the glaring.

"Uh…n-never mind…uh you just go right ahead and kill each other." The bolder teacher piped up, once he got over the evil stares that were given in generous shares.

"Puh-lease Veggie, tell her you're taking ME to the football game." Ponytail was having a mini argument on the sidelines. Everyone was being ignored, preps not being an exception.

"YOU SICK, SICK, SICK PERVERT!!!"

Cheers from those supporting Bulma issued throughout the classroom, while those hoping for Vegeta to emerge the victor were tossing various edible objects at them, and screams of those hoping for the whole thing to just stop, the teachers having taken shelter in the desk fortress included.

*~ . ~* z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z

"WHY THE HELL AM **I** HERE? HE STARTED THE DAMN THING!" Bulma screamed to anyone who passed by, red, faced, angry, and in the office, and if she wasn't tied securely to a chair after several courageous adults whacked her over the head with a few dozen textbooks rendered unconscious her unconscious, she might have endangered the passerby. Now, 30 minutes later, she was awake and very, very, very unhappy. 

Vegeta seemed to have been held up in the classroom, Bulma would have thought he would be here receiving the punishment for something he was as equally guilty for.

The principal decided to grace the teenager with his presence, aspirin bottle in hand. "Ms. Briefs?" Bulma was giving out her glares by the dozen today, yesterday, the day before that, the whole dang week, now being no exception. 

"Ms. Briefs, now could you explain to me why you've decided to act up in class? You've always been such a good student before."

"I got tired of listening to everyone talk about their hair, preps AND anyone else there."

Bulma was annoyed, in the very least. Her now irritable nature was a mix of confusing thoughts, insomnia, and suffering a little too many knocks on her head. 

Mr. Featah was confused, Bulma was angry, the secretary was with the many other members of the faculty suffering from trauma, everyone else in the history class were placing bets on the severity of punishment, all in all, Bulma wasn't happy, Mr. Featah was not quite grasping what had happened, the remaining population of the history class were wagering amongst themselves the harshness of the consequences that now faced Bulma, and maybe Vegeta, Bulma most certainly wasn't in a good mood, Mr. Featah…

Shouts were heard down the hallway, with small explosions drowning out the yelling, and then followed up with screams, more angry shouts, glass being broken, more screams, chaos having its unfair share of fun, and of course, more shouts.           One of the fellow torture giving participants in a tattered, burned outfit, wheezed out a puff of smoke while somehow managing to say, "Sir? It seems that one of the student has been involved in a conspiracy to take control of the school. He and his gang have already declared half the school building as theirs and no one can calm them down. I suppose that during the confusion in the History classroom distracted most of the other teachers giving prime conditions for them to announce their plans publicly."

"All in one breath too…" Bulma muttered, forcing her jaw to close. The speech was made in a little under a minute with none of the breathing you would think a human being would need to do in order to survive. Biology pulled though once more and the teacher passed out at their feet, half burnt wig, purple pin striped suit and all.

"Vegeta…should have known he was planning something, hasn't been this quiet since the first day of school…" Mr. Featah babbled to himself, wondering if he had just stayed home instead of going to college, how happy his days as a janitor for the rest of his life might have been.

"Excuse me? Could you get the ropes off me? I think they're cutting off the circulation to my arms."

Before answering, Mr. Featah promised himself that the next time the circus was in town, he'd escape with them.

"Bulma, I have one student leading a group of other students on a hostile take over of the school. I can only imagine what would happen should I let you loose to reek havoc."                                                                                                                                "Well, you're just going to have to trust me." Bulma wasn't liking the looks of her now purple and blue swollen hands.    "As I've said before, no, I just can't let you." He placed the aspirin bottle back on hi desk, calming down enough to realize he had no real talent for the circus. He should escape with a theatre troupe.

Big mistake.

Bulma's quick mind formulated a plan.

Mr. Featah's hands were on the sill of the window, trying to decide what to do with the fainted teacher in the room, the lack of normal staff members present, a crazed teenager, another crazed teenager, and his new actor name, when he heard scuffling, bang, and a cry of victory.

He turned to see if he could possibly make the knots any tighter, and to his horror, Bulma was now in the possession of his precious asprin bottle, his only relief from the real world.

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If you guess which one is the REAL me, you get to review me. Please! Only about 20 away from silencing me forever! Fine, 17, 16, one of those, I'll check later, right now though, sleeeeeeeeep. Hey, even insomnia victims try to go to bed. Hey, fellow prep haters, have you read 'Free For All' ? You get to decide what happens to the preps, I have no power. You can even name them after the preps you hate most! All you have to do is read it, review it with your suggestion, and I'll write it. I don't have to think, just type, you don't have to think a whole bunch, just type. How hard can it be to think of ways to torture preps? Come one, please?


	7. Chicken soup for someone else's soul

Hey, half decent chapter length. Woo-hoo.

Disclaimer: Not. Writing. It. So. There. NUH.

*@ . @*

Bulma was snickering to herself at her cleverness. On the outside though, she was cackling like mad.

Mr. Featah was trembling with fear, his brain having short-circuited leaving him with no ideas about getting his precious pain-killers back.

"My babies!" Mr. Featah managed to say…scream, now kneeling on the ground, one hand on the desk supporting him, the other fumbling around for his handkerchief.  "Please, have mercy!"

This got Bulma's attention. Never having power over school authority before, she was tempted to take advantage over the situation. So of course she did.

"Now, tell me, why should I spare these worthless drugs?" Bulma said, eyeing the open window, a garbage truck conveniently passing by on its route. 

Mr. Featah was teetering on the edge of losing what was left of the gray mush he called a brain. Trembling, he gasped out his answer, shaking even more when he saw what Bulma planned to do, "They're not worthless, please, just give them back."

Bulma was now officially having the time of her life. Thinking of a hundred different ways to torture a faculty member occupied her mind for the next five minutes.

Mr. Featah wiped his forehead with his handkerchief free of sweat, rose from his position on the ground, and said in an official tone of voice, "Fine then what are your demands?"

If Bulma was surprised before, there are no more adjectives left in the world to describe her expression. Slowly, a grin crept over her face as she turned purple, before she finally ended up on the floor, near hysterical with laughter. 

"Are…you…serious? You're…considering this a hostage…situation?" Bulma wheezed between her frenzied laughing.

"As a matter of fact I do." Mr. Featah continued, maintaining the official tone. "Seeing as to how you're not an adult, you wouldn't understand the importance of headache relieving drugs. Now, before you do any hasty," He shot a quick glance out the window to where the garbage truck had stopped, it's driver and passenger apparently having an argument. "What do you want?"

"For all the cheerleaders to die." The answer came in a bored tone.

Mr. Featah sighed, eyes darting back to the open window frantically. "Something within the law."

Bulma rolled her eyes, rattling the bottle. "Fine, if you feel the lives of the annoying princess bitches are worth more then your precious- HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

The window snapped closed, Mr. Featah having finally regained his senses and realized she couldn't throw the thing out the window with her arms strapped to a chair.

"Now then, Ms. Briefs, you've had your fun, now hand me my aspirin."

Now having run through her plans b through g, h said stall for time.

"No, I'm serving a month of detentions after this, why should I give up this early?"

Veins started to throb disturbingly on the principal's forehead.

"Or maybe not." Bulma dropped her head to look at the floor in shame, disgusted that a few measly veins scared her into giving up, handing the bottle over.

He sighed again, "You were such a good student, what went wrong?" Turning to go to check on the situation with Vegeta.

"HEY! WHAT ABOUT ME?" Bulma shrieked, still tied to her chair.

*- . -*

'I wonder if I'd be allowed to rent out a flamethrower for this.' Mr. Featah wondered to himself, fast approaching the phone. He could call the superintendent and his problem would be solved, but then he might get fired. But the superintendent would find out anyway, this way he would get fired faster.

"Decisions, decisions, decisions." He found himself muttering to…himself.

"HELLO? YOU DEAF IN THERE? I SAID I WANT OUT, NOW!" Bulma incessant yelling sent the office walls vibrating again.

"And that would be the answer." Thinking of all the torture this single student put him through for the past few weeks, vengeance is sweet.

Opening the door to his office, he saw Bulma doing everything but being quiet and staying still, his room now reflected the onslaught of the combo of Bulma and boredom, and a chair. And she was still trying to wriggle free from the ropes, succeeding in loosening one enough to release her left arm, break one of the chair's legs, and consequently end up on the floor.

"MISS BRIEFS!" Mr. Featah called to the teenager on the floor, trying to keep her from destroying anymore of his sanctuary. "Ms. Briefs, would you be so kind as to take a seat."

Bulma just looked at him, wondering what the heck he was smoking.

"Never mind, I see you've made yourself comfortable on the floor. Now, I'm sure you're aware of the school's predicament concerning Vegeta."

Bulma nodded slowly, her mind still floating around asking 'what is he high off?'

"And from my understanding, you owe me."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I OWE YOU? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO TIED ME TO A CHAIR AND-" 

"And nothing, I'm sure we can come to an agreement, I do believe there are an excessive amount of detentions I'm sure you don't want to serve." Mr. Featah said, popping a few aspirin tablets into his mouth, enjoying Bulma's expression.

"Well?" He asked.

"Like I have a choice." Bulma tried to stall, thinking of something that would get her out of this. 

"Then you'll do as I say?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Bulma shuffled her feet. Being unconscious recently didn't really contribute anything to her thinking.

"Good, now all you have to do, is simply stop the school from being taken over." Half sang the principal, leaning back in his leather chair, quite pleased with himself, and showing it.

'Yea, two walking egos, where will it end?' At the moment, she was still tied to the chair, hands numb with pain, annoying school administrator 'Mwahaha-ing' and nearly prancing around the room, explosions and what not were going on outside the room, and her mind was on Vegeta, and whether or not a spear through the head was too good for him.

The principal stopped his evil laughing, pulled a white, longhaired cat from somewhere, and said in a dignified manner, while petting the cat also in a greatly dignified manner, "You may leave now. I expect the school to be in order by this Friday."

"Three things first." Bulma nearly gave herself away by grinning, evilly. "First of which being, UNTIE THE DAMN ROPE!" 

Had his nose been any higher in the air, Mr. Featah would have drowned in the hurricane the sprinkler system caused.

"This was NOT my fault!" Bulma screamed through the water, replying to the glares she was getting from both Mr. Featah, and the cat.

"Well it conveniently came on after YOU screamed." Mr. Featah shouted back, the cat accompanying him in soprano, alto, and hissing.

"WHAT? Is UNTIE THE DAMN ROPE suppose to be-" The temporary shower left, the cat and Mr. Featah heads turned up to look at the ceiling, and then back down to glare at Bulma.

"I DIDN'T DO A THING! HOW COULD I? ASK YOUR PRECIOUS CAT! I COULDN'T HAVE DONE A DAMN THING" On cue, the cat lifted its head to look up at Mr. Featah, and Mr. Featah looked down at it, and had it not been so weird, one would expect "ahs" come from a live television audience.

"Mr. Snow Winkle, what did she do to our beautiful office?" 

"I didn't mean literally." Bulma mumbled. The cat was next on her hit list.

"Rar, raara, hiss…" The cat was now 'kill when ready'

"She what?" "MERAOW!" The cat was then and there, dead where it stood.

*! . !* *! . !* *! . !* *! . !* *! . !*

"Come on, let me turn on the sprinkler system one more time." A squeaky voice, typical of that of the smart evil shrimpy guys.

"Is there any concept of 'strategy' in that pathetic excuse for a brain?" A deeper voice snapped.

"Hey, if it weren't for me you'd be stuck outside."

"Will the two of you, SHUT UP!" The voice was followed by the sound of sliding metal and a soft thud as it landed. The takeover had been thoroughly planned, occupying most of their time. Well, Vegeta's and minion guy anyway.

"Now that we're on the topic, who the hell are you?" Vegeta looked up at what seemed a hybrid mix of punk and gothic, with an attire of complete black and bagginess, chains as well, and the hair dyed green and blonde, spiked out on the front.

"I just followed shortness around. Ended up here." He said, he must have been a gang leader at one point of his life. Vegeta turned his back on the two and headed to the only chair in the room. His chair. 

It overlooked a tile tinted to the effect that they could see them, but them couldn't see they. 

"Do you have the intercom system hooked up yet?"

"Almost." Tyler half shouted back, pliers in hand and working away at a box, filled with wires, diodes, and batteries.

Vegeta was watching two unsuspecting people plus one mad cat, scream their lungs out, most of which could be intercepted through the ceiling, which was conveniently Vegeta and co.'s floor, but that wasn't what the intercom was for.

"I told you not to turn on the sprinkler yet." Vegeta noted, taking into consideration that the principal was toupee-less, and the accursed cat was wet.

Tyler got behind the box and continued to work from there, "Yeah, but what's his face over there said to go ahead."

"You're taking orders from someone you don't even know? Pitiful."

"So would you except YOU'RE the captain of the football team. YOU don't have to worry about getting your face pounded in. YOU-" Tyler stopped, catching a glimpse of his almighty leader. The death glare had that affect on people.

"Shut up and you won't get hurt. You, make sure he shuts up." Vegeta called from his position at the highest point in the room, it felt good to boss people around. As Tyler finished fooled around with the box, Pothic or gunk watched him like a hawk.

"Why ARE you here?" Pothic/gunk turned to face Vegeta. "He owes me money." He said, returning to tormenting Tyler.

"Fine, hurry and sort out your problem, the rest of them will be here." The plan was as followed, first take over school, simple enough, then take a few teachers hostage, call in the S.W.A.T. team make a few hundred demands then turn it back over to the principal.

'And torture that girl as much as possible.' Vegeta smirked. Torturing people was a hobby of his, but torturing Bulma especially was a lot of fun. Only certain things got her mad, everything for example.

*X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X**X . X*

Ran out of ideas, so, review, tell me whether or not this is getting TOO crazy (as if there was such as thing as too much craziness)


	8. I am Sooooooooooooo not dead

This is where everything makes sense. 

I hope.

*+.+*

As Mr. Featah consulted the so called cat, Bulma slowly wormed her hands out of the binding.

"Oh, yes your just so cute, yes you are! How could she dare do that? How a…"

'Mr. Featah, head principal, baby talking to a cat. I've died and gone to hell haven't I?' Carefully closing the door, Bulma looked for something to lock him in, or at least stifle him. Besides baby talking to the cat.

'Maybe this all one long nightmare, or I'm in a coma…' Bulma thought, pushing the secretary's chair against the door. 'Or maybe I am dead. That would explain a lot of things: Like how the principal has a cat in a school when-, whoa, what's the secretary doing with this?'

Bulma found herself pulling out multiple lock picks placed professionally on a belt from one of the drawers of the desk she was rummaging through.

'They won't let you carry in butter knives here, but the secretary, she can have all the sharps things in the world on one belt. What a world.' Bulma thought fingering over the tools. Coming near the end opposite of the buckle, a small sticky note the size of her pinky finger was attached. In sickeningly legible handwriting were the words, 'Confiscated from Vegeta. To be returned: TBA'

Eyes darting from the belt back to the drawer it came from, Bulma's expression brightened.

"So this is where they put all their confiscated items." Bulma said wrapping the belt around her waist.

'Funny, you'd think they'd put them somewhere else, other than a drawer. Or maybe they're using reverse psychology. Or they're just lazy.' Certain items of interest found their way on the floor next to Bulma, while she continued to explore the drawer, looking all the world like three year old with her toy chest.

30 seconds later, with exceptionally large pile of junk, Bulma had locked the principal inside his office via use of the not so complimentary toys from her first find.

"That's settled, now I can just go home and stay there for as long as Idiot and Co. are taking complete control of the school. Life is good." Bulma said, patting her 'new' laptop. "Tyler won't be missing this." She said to no one, setting off to the nearest exit, with a backpack full of new gizmos.

Though a social outcast, Bulma didn't find it too hard to see who all could pound you into the oblivion. And those who hung around them.

Tyler was one of those 'them' s. Small, with black or really dark brown hair, gelled to form the perfect example of a porcupine. And that's the nicest thing you could say about him. He claimed to be a hacker, a lock pick, and the greatest thing since the greater thing since sliced bread. So when Bulma took the laptop, Jimminy Cricket was short one person's conscience. 

Heading down the hall, minding her own business, Bulma had to stop herself in time to keep from being flattened into a really, really dead thing.

"Bad, very bad. What did the freak do? Rent an army?" Bulma said, safely obscured from the guard's vision. Well, guards really.

Down the right hall were four, seven, …more guys then there were Bulmas present, posted at the doors, playing cards. Down the other hall were more guys, currently trying to put together what once might have been a gun, with hostages.

"Looks like they're trying to get the guys with the cards to help them with the guns." Bulma thought to herself, inching away from hallway. 

"COME ON! IT'S OUR TURN TO USE THE CARDS!"

 "Close enough."

When no retorts from the other side came, Bulma assumed that the card players were ignoring their comrades. Course she also came up with the earlier evaluation of the situation.

"YOU'VE HAD THEM FOR THE PAST HOUR! HOW LONG CAN ONE 'GO FISH' GAME LAST?" The squeaky boy's voice showed itself again.

Still no answer.

"WHAT? YOU WANNA DIE OR SOMETHIN?"

'How does not answering a question qualify as a death wish?' Bulma thought, still inching away from the scene.

"ARE YOU IGNORING ME? CAUSE IF YOU ARE I'LL…" 

'And that's enough stupidity for one day.' Bulma half thought, safe in her little niche in the wall. Opening the laptop she pressed the power button and prayed that it wouldn't make too much noise. Dim light poured forth from the laptop with only a slight beep.

'It's already on? For how long? Where's the battery?' Bulma said, squirming in the nook for the battery. 

'Something is definitely not right. The thing says it still has an hour left, and just how long has this thing been on? A month?' Trying to get back to her original position, something went 'BEEP', stalling Bulma's pursuit of comfort long enough for her to see the screen and the numbers scrolling down fast enough to be, what we in the business of adjectives, deem, a blur.

'I didn't do anything! Stupid piece of junk!. Stop!' Now in a seated position, Bulma tried the first trick that popped into her head.

On her second try she managed to get back down to a blur.

"HA! You thought you'd get the best of me? I AM BULMA! HEAR ME, no no no no no, don't you dare…"

More plinks filled with the room when the guy with the half crying voice decided to breathe.  

"AND, that's why I am Bulma." The victory dance began, in celebration of getting the stupid machine to respond to her commands. So when a little window landed itself in the middle of the screen, it went unnoticed. For a little while anyway.

"'Remote Operate: on/off' looks like someone stopped by Radio Shack. Yes, no, maybe so…duh. No."

*@.@* 

"Look, right here. It says, paid off… hey what is your name? Anyway, it says I paid you off. So go away, don't you have someone else to stalk?"

"It was only half."

"Half?"

"Half."

"What do you mean 'half'? Half of what?"

"You know what."

"What I know?"

"Don't play dumb."

"Idiots, idiots, incompetent, annoying IDIOTS!" Vegeta's fist came slamming down beside an electric doohickey that was stolen from a certain someone's locker when they were trying to escape another certain someone.

"Sheesh Vegeta, you don't have to be so blunt." Tyler said, holding a notebook, pointing to where his spending money got off to G/P.

"When you're not stupid." Vegeta went back to the doohickey, that was shaped like a, let's say really small laptop, fiddling around with wires.

"COME ON GUYS! It's OUR TURN! Guys? GUYS?" The screen of the doohickey flickered with a hazy image of a group of guys (still) trying to put together something.

"I wonder if they all share the same brain…" Vegeta muttered to himself before the screen blacked out and came back on, a little staticy, to the same scene, only with a different message.

"VEGETA YOU BASTARD! **YOU'RE** THE ONE WHO TOOK IT." 

*X.X* *X.X* *X.X* *X.X* *X.X*

Okay, so I lied. It didn't make any more sense.

Sorry, sorry, sorry for the, um…length it took getting it out here. I couldn't come up with a name for the computer thingy Vegeta got a hold of, so it sorta got delayed. (Not really, but what you don't know will only benefit the mutant sock camp that's taken over my room.)

The REAL excuse: 

My dog ate it.

No really, he destroyed my floppy disk. I found it in his stash of my stuff that isn't mine any more.


	9. I feel like an oreo, no seriously

"I SWEAR WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU I'LL SHRED YOU LIMB FROM AND LIMB, AND FEED YOU TO MY GOLDFISH! THEN I'LL KILL THE GOLDFISH AND-" Bulma's voice screamed from the hallway scene before her face appeared on a window on the computer doohickey (still looking for a name), before she was cut off by Mr. Whiny voice himself.

"AAGH! TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF! PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON US!" came the frantic chanting from Tyler, his interest shifted from his book to the screaming box of plastic.

"IS THAT TYLER? TYLER I SWEAR, YOU LAY A FINGER ON MY RADIO AND YOU'LL BE JOINING VEGETABLE OVER THERE IN FISH SOUP!"

Looking back to where a pile of wires n' such were lying behind the trio of boys, one could make out the distorted frame of what might have been a radio.

"Oops, too late."

"YOU BETTER BE LYING, YOU MAGGOT! OF ALL THE-"

Bulma was interrupted yet again by Vegeta, having hit the mute button. Leaving a screaming red-faced Bulma, without sound.

"You know, that's pretty funny."

"Yeah, want a coke?"

"Sure. How about you Vegeta?" Tyler looked over at Vegeta, who was messing around on the doohickey (really need a name). 

"Fine, forget I exsist." With that the duo left the other one to the coke machine.

*.*

"Do you think it's safe?" The owner of the squeaky voice asked to one of the other guys, before peering around the corner of the hallway.

"I don't know. Do banshees eat humans?" Came the reply from somewhere in the crowd of guys.

"It's your fault. You knocked out that nerdy guy."

"No, that was Benny over there."

"Isn't Benny playing cards with the other guys."

"You mean they're still not done?"

"I think they're dead."

"Well maybe you should go check." Squeaky asked with a hint of annoyance.

"Nuh-uh, they're on the other side of the hallway." It said, turning slowly, pointing to the other side. 

All eyes turned slowly to the 'other side' of the hallway.

Imagine a capital 'T'. The hallway Bulma's in would be the vertical line, the halfwits would on one side of the vertical line (I'm thinking left, I have no clue about you though). And where the two lines meet would be a large gaping hole in the wall commonly referred to as an entranceway.

"The other side." The whole group said in unison, almost in awe.

The banshee started up again, its horrible wails almost unbearable.

"VEGETA I SWEAR!!!"

"It threatens our leader!"

"NoOOOOO" Squeaky yelled.

"NoOOOOO?"

"What? I had something in my throat!" Squeaky covered.

"Might be your brain sliding down it." Came a familiar voice from…nowhere.

"But that would mean..."

"Yes. It's really, really, small."

"HEY! A guy's talking through my earphones!" Another guy piped up from the crowd.

"Really? Ya think?"

"I'm detecting some sarcasm…" Squeaky said, fiddling with his earphone.

"JUST DO YOUR JOB!" With that, a high pitched electronic screech wailed from the earphones, everyone present taking that as a cue to shut up. Including the banshee, as most of the more dim witted members noted.

"Hey, we got the people all tied up." Squeaky ventured, hurt creeping into his voice.

"Fine, new mission, get that girl that's been yelling."

"What girl?" This time another guy.

"Do you mean the banshee?"

"Of course he means the banshee, stooge." Squeaky said again, nearly hissing at the guy who spoke.

"Yes, now that that's settled, go get her." Vegeta said, his voice coming in a little staticy.

"Okay, chef."

"You better have meant chief."

"Sure, whatever."

The connection was cut.

*^ . ^*

"So now I'm a banshee…" Bulma muttered. The laptop rang with the sound of an IM.

"Yes, you are."

"How'd he…? Duh." Bulma caught herself from banging her head against something. "The intercom system."

"Genius I tell you, genius." Bulma, infuriated, started typing back a response when she got mail.

The message box with the one sided conversation now read, "Oh, I have something for you."

Bulma grumbled, clicking on the blinking icon.

"Vegeta…" She said through her gritted teeth. A picture had popped up, a picture of her to be exact, with a few minor adjustments. Like horns, a mustache and tail.

"This means war."

"One that I will without a doubt, win." Came the new message.

"We'll see about that." Bulma said, slamming the laptop's top down and walking away from the bumbling group o' imbecile. 

*X.X*

You know, this might actually have an ending in sight. And that my friends, is a thought too scary to think about.


	10. why me

Summary (new feature, bow down before it.): Let's see, Bulma's trying to get away from the squadron of idiots, Vegeta's dealing with his cronies. Not very much content. Wow, that really makes me reconsider my values. 

            This would have to be done in secret, stealth like, like a cat. Like sly cat. Like a slinky, sly cat. Like a cat so slinky, sly, sneaky and stealth that she would run out of adjectives starting with 's'. But sly nonetheless. Because that's the way you operate when a widow peaked idiot decided to send idiot clones of himself to annoy you. Especially if the idiot army was bigger, meaner, and dumber then you.

            Then of course you walk stealthy through the halls in paranoid fear, knowing that every step you take would be heard by guys who thought you were a banshee (Yes, they're still not convinced that she's not a banshee.) with a bounty on your head. And by making a really loud noise you would alert them to your location, and ruin all those adjectives that took so long to think up.

            Crashing into wagon of janitorial supplies placed right in your way would be one such noise.

            "Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow, Ow. This is not a good thing." Bulma said, removing an impromptu mop wig and several cans of cleaner.

One of the bottles of Pledge that had rolled away started to shake as the cause of the vibrations started to get closer. 

            "Very much so not a good thing." She mumbled, starting to get up.

            "Found her!" Came a far away voice.

            "No I found her." Came another one.

            "Nuh uh, I'm leader so *I* found her!" Came a squeaky one.

            "Why me?" came an annoyed one.

            "Hey, she's running!" Came a dimwitted one.

            "Thanks for pointing out the obvious."

*~ . ~* 

            "Did you take my soda?" Tyler whined, walking back into the control room.

            "No, I've already told you no, and if you ask me again…" Gunk/Pothic said, exasperated, grabbing Tyler by the shirt and bringing him to eye level. Any higher and we'd have a spiky haired bug with a bloody nose on our hands.

            "Okay, okay, okay, you didn't take my soda, understood, understood." He squeaked, gasping for air, arms flailing about comically.

            "That's enough out of you two, have you placed the call yet?" Vegeta spoke from across the room, messing up the gizmo thingy with the wires, taking a swig from a soda can that wasn't there before.

            "Not yet, I've been trying to find my soda." Still gasping for air and trying to bring down his heartbeat.

            "Soda? You're delaying the chance of a lifetime for soda? You disgust me."

            "Yeah, well, it's really good soda."

            Well, this one's destined for the garbage, Vegeta thought, not noticing the ever so slight shading the screen received, that ever so resembled the bright/dark adjustment controls on your average computer, ever so much so.

*- . -*

                "Test complete, I have power over you!" Bulma said before launching a mildly evil laugh from her new bug free operations booth. After debating over the most subtle form of testing, she executed it effectively and thus began using the features on the gismo dilly currently unknown to Vegeta.

                "What's that noise coming from the lockers?" Some muffle noises from beyond the thin metal shield.

                "Wait, you do remember where you put that shrimpy kid right?"

                 "Benny did that, remember?"

                "I'm beginning to think Benny does everything around here."

                "But I thought Benny was dead." 

                "Who did we assign to check?"

                "Benny."

*X . X*

Phew, that's done and over with. Already near the end of May and my school still hasn't let out for vacation.

Yes I'm miserable.

So very miserable.


End file.
